


heaven in hell's despair

by ketabat



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Blacksmith!Billy Hargrove, M/M, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prince!Steve Harrington, Princess!Robin Buckley, Robin Buckley & Billy Hargrove Friendship, Witch!Billy Hargrove
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27535012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ketabat/pseuds/ketabat
Summary: “You’re a bastard,” Billy laughed and put his sledgehammer down. “No one’s 'princess',” He turned to face them, sliding a piece of cloth off his shoulder to wipe his hands. Then his eyes landed on Steve and he went still. Infinitesimally. For just a second before he continued cleaning the grime off his hands. “And you brought company.”or, the historical royalty au featuring attempted archaic language and a sprinkle of magic no one asked for
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 11
Kudos: 100





	heaven in hell's despair

**Author's Note:**

> UFFF. finally. this idea's been in my head for like. months. it sprouted from my need for billy with a pet dragon and the idea of royalty steve but in the literal sense. ha. excuse my v poor attempt at medieval language for mine mother tongue isn't english.
> 
> title snatched right out of "the clod and the pebble" by william blake.

Steve should be used to it by now, the muffled yelling into black hoods and the sound of rope drawn taut and kicking legs and cracking bones. His father always made him watch every hanging.  
  
_One day, you’ll be king. And with a crown comes a sense of justice.  
  
_Steve should be used to it by now, maybe even _comfortable_ with it. Because these people being stringed up are _criminals_. However, his eyes weren’t inured to death or violence or anything past the walk to the gallows.  
  
“What did this one do, father?” Robin spoke up from his side. “Thieve to feed his little ones? Smuggle goods? _Step on your robe?”_  
  
King Richard had grown immune to the caustic comments Robin hauled his way whenever she had the chance, words at the ready like daggers at the tip of her tongue. He said she had her mother’s wit. And Steve knew how much his father loved his mistress. He’d throw Steve to the hounds as long as not a single strand of hair on her or her daughter’s head was touched.   
  
“Sorcery,” Richard declared. “The boy was seen practicing magic—”  
  
“Black magic?” Robin broke in. “Was the boy practicing black magic or merely whispering trivial incantations?”  
  
“Today it’s _trivial incantations,_ tomorrow he’s posing a threat to my kingdom,” Richard answered.   
  
“So… _not_ black magic?” Robin asked, finality clear in her tone. “Is this just a shot in the dark? Kill every man who practices his beliefs based on _what_ , father? Your fear of an _unforeseeable future?”  
  
_“I will _not_ have this discussion with you,” Richard said stiffly. “You’re not a ruler. Do you think I take pleasure in—”  
  
“Oh, _spare me,”_ Robin laughed, looking back through the window at the hooded boy. “He’s a _child_. Have you ever stopped to consider that the chaosyou’re so afraid of will be the upshot of your _dominion_?”  
  
Richard stormed off, adamant not to chew over the same thing with her _again.  
  
_“Gods, that man’s a damn _tyrant,”_ Robin uttered once he was out of sight.  
  
“You know it’s no use trying to reason with him, Rob,” Steve answered quietly.  
  
Robin went silent beside him, the tense silence that usually preceded a small _I hate him._ Steve counted down from three, and, “I hate him,” Robin breathed. “One of these days he’ll be assassinated, and do you know what I will do when that day comes?”  
  
“Rejoice,” Steve murmured, blasé.  
  
“I’ll be in fucking _raptures,”_ Robin gritted out, hands clenching into fists at her side.   
  
“What are they doing?” Steve asked, brows drawing together as the hangman began tearing the boy’s clothing off his body.   
  
Robin looked back out the window, then away. “Removing his mark,” she replied tensely, throat working around her words. The symbol in question was a crescent entwined with a star, big and proud on the left side of the boy’s chest.  
  
Steve could hear the yelling of the crowd, spurring the hangman on, fingers pointed accusingly at the child as if they had a _blood feud_ with him. “I can’t watch this. I’ll be in my chambers. Need to see my swordsman for a new weapon.”  
  
“Why not see the castle’s blacksmith?” Steve rasped, dragging his eyes away from the window and to her retreating figure. “His competence is unmatched.”  
  
Robin stopped, then turned to face him, smile sardonic on her cherry red lips. “You think father would allow me to wield a sword?” she laughed out loud, throwing her head back. Always one for the _theatrics_. “The idea of a powerful woman _poisons_ him.”  
  
“Oh,” Steve muttered, noncommittal and small. “Alright. Can I come with?”  
  
“As long as you can keep a secret.”

…

“We have to be back at the castle before the feast.”  
  
“God, Steve, if I knew you were such a coward, I wouldn’t have let you tag along,” Robin sighed. “Don’t worry.”  
  
Steve could feel eyes on him. Just him. As if Robin wasn’t right there as well. He felt seen and hated. It was his insecurity, he knew, that kept mistaking the _oh-a-new-face_ in the commoners’ eyes for disdain. Most of these people didn’t even know what the prince _looked like_. And. “Do you always fraternize with the commoners?” he wondered aloud.  
  
“Spoken just like father,” Robin clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth with a small eye-roll. “But yes. They’re the best company I’ve had.”  
  
“When?” Steve questioned. “Do they know about you?”   
  
“Once night falls,” Robin shrugged. “No. I’d like to keep it that way. Oh, there’s a tavern just around the corner from here, you would _love it.”  
  
_“Why have you never told me?” Steve asked, completely disregarding the rest of her sentence. It sounded like an accusation. Like he had the _right_ to know in the first place. He couldn’t help but feel a bit betrayed. They told each other _everything_.   
  
“Would you have come along or just tried to talk me out of it?” Robin retorted, bumping her side into his. It made Steve scowl because, _fair._ “William!”  
  
“Billy, _Robin.”  
  
_“Your highness _, Billy,”_ Robin teased back. “Is that a way to address your _princess_?”  
  
So this one _knows._  
  
“You’re a bastard,” _Billy_ laughed and put his sledgehammer down. “No one’s _princess_ ,” He turned to face them, sliding a piece of cloth off his shoulder to wipe his hands. Then his eyes landed on Steve and he went still. Infinitesimally. For just a second before he continued cleaning the grime off his hands. “And you brought company.”  
  
“Steve, this is Billy, a friend who I detest and my blacksmith,” Robin gestured for the blond. She went on, pointedly ignoring Billy’s ‘ _not yours’._ “Billy, this is Steven. Crown prince and bosom friend.”  
  
Heat passed its tongue over Steve’s cheeks, breath leaving him in a huff as Billy passed his eyes over him. “Told you not to introduce me like that,” he elbowed Robin lightly. “I’m—It’s. It’s Steve. I prefer Steve.”  
  
Billy looked, foreign _._ Blond hair drawn back into a ponytail with a few wild strands framing his visage. His skin was sun-touched, eyes a clashing icy blue as they cast over Steve’s face. Steve swallowed thickly before pulling his gloves off and extending a hand. “A pleasure.”  
  
Billy slung the cloth back over his shoulder and took Steve’s hand in his. It was as warm as Steve had expected, but he still found himself losing breath as his skin slid smooth against callus-roughened fingers. “Pleasure’s all mine,” Billy replied, voice dropping into something that leaked in molten waves, thick and hot down Steve’s spine.  
  
Robin looked between the two, brow hiked high. “If we’re past introductions, I’d like to get to the matter at hand.”  
  
Steve drew back instantly, hand falling away from Billy’s. He pulled one glove back on, as though he can reserve the heat of the blacksmith’s hand.   
  
Blue eyes lingered on Steve a beat longer before Billy swiped his tongue over his lips and turned to Robin. “What do you want, my lady?” he questioned, smirk derisive and small on his lips.   
  
Steve forced his gaze off the man and strolled away to occupy himself with the swords and daggers laying on display. He could hear Robin explaining what jewels she wanted encrusted into the handle of her sword, could see her stop her foot petulantly at Billy’s, “Your hand’ll be wrapped around it, m’lady. The _last_ thing your opponent will be looking at is the sparkly things you’ve put in your weapon.”  
  
Steve hid his smile behind a fist, clearing his throat.   
  
“You’re sucha _prat_ ,” Robin muttered. “I want a ruby up here and— what would you advise?”  
  
“Obsidian,” Billy answered after a thoughtful hum. “It’s believed to have a protective quality, that it fends off negativity. I’m sure the castle’s _swarming_ with that.”  
  
Robin chuckled. “Oh, you have no idea, _Will_.”  
  
“Billy,” Billy corrected. “Don’t hassle me with a sword in my hand, princess.”  
  
Steve ran a finger along the edge of a curved dagger, ears only with them as they bickered back and forth.  
  
“I could also charm—”  
  
“Hshhh,” Robin hissed. “Gods, William, were you _not_ at the hanging today?”  
  
“Alright, _alright_. Don’t go all fucking _royal_ on me,” Billy hissed back. Steve’s breath hitched in his throat, lips parting on the implication of Robin’s words. Billy was, he’s— “Is he safe?”  
  
“What, Steve? He’s a _pinhead_.”  
  
Billy released a laugh on a breath. One that ebbed to silence a moment later. Steve would have felt embarrassed if he weren’t too busy wondering what in the lord’s name Robin had gotten herself into. A sharp pain bloomed at the tip of his finger drew him out of his inner bedlam when he pressed it against the extreme of the dagger, pulling a hissed curse out of him. He dropped the blade with a _clank_ to suck his fingertip into his mouth.  
  
“Careful, I just finished honing them,” Billy warned. “Are you going to see I’m put to the sword for nicking your finger, your highness?” it was playful, coupled with a pleased smirk as he stopped in front of Steve.  
  
Steve released his finger. “I. Didn’t realize how sharp,” he mumbled, lifting the dagger and turning it over a few times before raising his eyes to Billy. “What kind of dagger is this?”   
  
“A khanjar,” Billy responded. “Mostly used among the Ottomans. You have an interest in blades?”  
  
“A little,” Steve smiled. “I prefer a bow and arrow.”  
  
Billy nodded once. “Hunting?”  
  
“No,” Steve shook his head. “That’s. That’s more Robin’s forte.”  
  
“My curiosity’s piqued,” Billy leant forward, hands flat on the table of daggers and head tilted sideways. Steve felt bare. Wondered what was more dangerous, the weapons on show or the disarming cerulean of Billy’s eyes. “What do you dabble in, m’lord?”  
  
“Steve,” Steve rushed out with. “It’s just Steve.”  
  
Billy nodded twice, slow and curious. “Steve,” he echoed, sucking his tongue like he was milking the name dry. “What do you dabble in, _Steve?”  
  
_Steve opened his mouth to respond. He shut it a moment later when he realized there’s nothing to respond _with._ “I don’t– I’m not–” he shook his head. “I’m not sure.”  
  
Billy blinked at him. He didn’t look disappointed in the answer. Or any less curious than he had a moment ago. Slowly, he pushed himself upright and left to talk Robin out of putting crystals in the actual fuller of her sword.

…

“So,” Robin started. They’ve been walking for a while, silent for far too long. “What do you think?”  
  
“About what?” Steve played oblivious, looking to the ground.   
  
“Billy,” Robin pushed her shoulder into his. _“Commoners.”  
  
_Steve shrugged. “He’s. Strange,” he said slowly, careful not to tip his hand. “Where does he come from? He has a, um,” he waved a hand in the air “…foreign accent?”  
  
Robin snickered. Like she was _teasing,_ like she’s already seen his cards _._ “He caught me off guard,” Steve said defensively. “It’s not every day that I—”   
  
“Fraternize with commoners?”  
  
“Will you let me live that down?” Steve snapped, glare heatless and gone unacknowledged by her.  
  
“He’s from the northeast,” Robin nodded her head up. “A small town between Zirisius and Edithra. He and his mother resettled here after the war broke out and his home was left in ruins. His mother passed away not many days ago.”  
  
The words broke Steve’s stride. He half turned, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “Should I have…?” he trailed off. “I should have offered my condolences.”  
  
Robin rolled her eyes and linked her arm through his to force him into walking again. “I get you want to see him again—”  
  
“What?!” Steve exclaimed. “Don’t be _ridiculous_. It’s common decency to extend— I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

…

“Steven!”  
  
Steve took a deep breath through his nose and fixed on a smile before turning to his uncle. “Uncle,” he responded, nodding his greeting.  
  
“You disappeared this morning.”  
  
“I was down in the kitchens,” Steve lied smoothly, right through his teeth. “You know the appetite I have on me, Uncle.”  
  
Martin laughed. “Of course,” he concurred. “The servants said you left the castle.”  
  
_Dammit._  
  
“ _Ohhh,_ you mean _after_ ,” Steve nodded. “With the masquerade ball around the corner, Robin wanted to see the dressmaker for a new gown. You know how she is, Uncle.”  
  
Martin regarded him skeptically, eyes lingering on his bandaged finger for a second more than necessary before Steve curled his hand into a fist. “If there’s nothing else…” he took a step back. “Sword training. Princely obligations.”  
  
Martin nodded. “Off you go.”  
  
Steve turned around and tried keeping his pace casual as he left for the training room.

…

He _delights_ in the half-scream Robin lets out when she sees him standing at the castle gates. “Steve! What in the seven hells are you _doing here?”  
  
_“Thought you could leave without me?” Steve smirked, pushing himself off the cold stone to hold an arm out for her. “Lead the way, princess.”  
  
_“Don’t_ call me that or I’ll make sure there’s no head left for your crown,”Robin smiled sweetly and looped her arm through his. “If you tell _anyone_ who either of us are and the word reaches father, we’re both dead.”  
  
“Alright, relax,” Steve huffed.  
  
The castle was usually dead by midnight, so quiet a pin drop could be heard. Save for the dull footfall of the servants and the occasional prattle of the night guards, that is. So walking through the streets was, _breath-taking._ The laughter and chatter and loud sound of instruments being played by deft fingers made Steve all warm inside. “Where are you taking me?”  
  
“The tavern,” Robin took a sharp left and pushed a door open. She hustled Steve inside and strode in after him. “Have fun. I’ll see you later.”  
  
Steve stared around him, not entirely certain what to do with himself. His eyes darted around, searching for any suspicious eyes on him. Finding none, he slowly walked over to the bar and sat up. “Um. Can I have…” his words drowned in more loud chattering, going unheard by the barkeeper. “Can I please have—” he scratched the back of his neck. “Um,” he snapped his fingers. “I’d like—”   
  
“First time?”  
  
Steve looked over his shoulder to the spring of the voice. “Oh, thank _goodness,”_ he grumbled. “Hi, Billy.”  
  
“Hi, _Steve,”_ Billy sat up in the seat beside Steve’s. He banged a fist on the wood of the bar, hard enough to have a few people around them startle into silence for a few moments before going back to their business. “Can I have two gins here?”  
  
“Comin’ right up!”  
  
Billy turned to Steve with a small smile. “What brings you here, m’lord?”  
  
“Don’t address me like that,” Steve replied. “I don’t want…” he looked around them and licked his mouth. “If word gets to my father, or _uncle,_ things will get ugly, so please.”  
  
“My apologies,” Billy bowed his head. “What brings you to a shit-cheap place like this? I’m sure your _house_ has the best firewater in the kingdom.”  
  
Steve jumped back when two glasses are banged down on the bar in front of them. He scowled at Billy’s laugh before wrapping both hands around his glass. “Would you believe me if I told you the castle is like a birdcage?”  
  
Billy hummed into the lip of his beverage, brows lifting in surprised before he set his cup down. “Oh? Oh, gods above, I’m sure it must be _suffocating_ to have a swarm of servants at your beck and call and food on your table _every. damn. day. So_ tiring if I say so myself.”  
  
Steve’s jaw clenched, head ducking as he thumbed his glass. Of course he wouldn’t understand. “Right.”  
  
“Take my jabs at your status in stride, dearest, it all comes from a good place,” Billy said, then he leant into Steve’s ear. “After all, we don’t choose our parents,” he pulled back and looked ahead, smile small as he brought his glass to his mouth. “Not that you’d choose any different if we were allowed the privilege.”  
  
Something in Steve’s gut tightened, warm and dizzy, and _wrong_ enough to have him lifting his glass to his mouth and guzzling most of it down. “Right,” he repeated. “Tell me about your parents? I heard your mother’s dead.”  
  
He was returning the stab at his own ego, didn’t mean to go wide of Billy’s self-esteem and straight for the heart.  
  
Billy’s face closed off for no longer than an eyeblink before he grinned and turned in his seat to face Steve. “Didn’t think my life would be of interest to you,” he pushed his glass away to prop his elbow on the bar and his head in the palm of his hand. “ _Both_ my parents are dead. Your sources seem a little _dubious_.”  
  
Steve’s jaw locked. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Billy’s lips tipped up at the corners, barely noticeable but _there_. Steve hated to admit he’d already been looking at Billy’s mouth to notice. “Gods,” Billy sighed. “There’s something about you.”  
  
He looked him over slowly, as slow as Steve’s breath left him right after. “I should. Leave. Do you know where I’d find Robin?”  
  
“No idea.”  
  
Steve slid off his seat and took a few steps away from the bar before retrieving them. “Um. Have you heard of the Annual Masquerade Ball?”  
  
“Can’t say I haven’t.”  
  
“Would you—” Steve gnawed at his lip for a second, racking his brain for an appropriate way to invite him. “Would you be interested in attending?”  
  
Billy tongued at his bottom lip, blinking lazy. “Your sister’s already invited me.”  
  
“Oh! Right. Of course she has,” Steve laughed. Utterly mortified. “Of course she. Yes. Um.”  
  
Billy wasn’t smiling but his eyes were alight with something _amused._ “However, my answer was no until now.”  
  
Steve’s breath rushed out of him at that, hands clammy as they turned to fists, nails burying lunettes into his skin. This shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. _They_ shouldn’t. Steve’s the crown prince, he’s a man, he’s. Billy’s. Not highborn. Not a woman. Why—  
  
“I need to find Robin.”  
  
Robin was where he’d expected. At the very center of attention. Dancing on the table with a roaring crowd. “Robin!” Steve snapped. “Robin, we have to go!”  
  
“Oh, _horseshit!”_ Robin snapped back, twirling in a circle. “You can go. I’m staying here with my _coterie_.”  
  
Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose on an endeavor to work out his exasperation. Then, having had enough, he hauled her over his shoulder and walked out the tavern, her fists pounding on his back. 

…

“You know what they say, Steven. Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”  
  
Steve sat down in the chair opposite her. “Take the crown. I don’t want it.”  
  
“Nonsense,” his mother scoffed, scandalized by the mere thought of her son not being future king. “You will be a great king. Better than your lothario father and his _hag_ of a wife.”  
  
“That’s my mother,” Robin stated.  
  
“It’s a miracle, really. I always thought two wrongs could _never_ make a right. Yet here you are,” it was a backhanded compliment, one that made Robin straighten up with a subtle smile.   
  
Steve sighed heavily. “Do I have to attend the masquerade?”  
  
“Yes,” his mother and Robin said simultaneously.

…

His wrist was beginning to ache from holding the mask up to his face for so long. His sight and breath felt constricted in the two holes of the domino, clothes too tight and ballroom too warm. He wondered if anyone knew he was crown prince. If he could sneak off unnoticed.   
  
And as expected, he barely managed a single step back before Lady Karena was in front of him, lowering her mask and smiling wide with a boy by her side. “Steven! Oh, how much you’ve grown,” she extolled.   
  
Steve chuckled awkwardly. “Lady Karena,” he bowed his head politely. “Lovely to see you could make it.”  
  
He never liked her. He remembered being six and having her try to set him up with her daughter, Nanette, _Nancy for short_. They were both indifferent to the idea of engagement and just wanted to run around the castle gardens climbing trees.  
  
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Lady Karena responded amiably. “Oh, do excuse me. This is my son and Nancy’s younger brother, Michael.”  
  
_Michael_ stopped looking around and settled his eyes on Steve, lowering his beaked mask. He was young, barely over sixteen, with sharp features set in a frame of black curls. The expression he wore perfectly conveyed how bored he was despite the faux smile he’d painted on like a mask beneath a mask. “Good thing you’re wearing a mask, Michael,” Steve smiled. “You seem unskilled in the art of acting interested.”  
  
Michael’s smile turned genuine in a heartbeat. Then he laughed. “My apologies, your highness,” he bowed, eyes on Steve, too dramatic and almost bordering on _caustic._ “Should I have bent the knee and played _honored_ to be in your presence?”  
  
Steve echoed his laughter a moment later, a cackle that easily smothered Lady Karena’s _how insolent! apologize to the crown prince at once!_ “No need,” Steve waved a hand. “It’s refreshing, really.”  
  
Karena began apologizing regardless, emphasizing on how _all children are like that at his age._ Rebellious and _don’t get me started on the style of clothing, I’ve been begging to take him to the barber for a trim._ Steve could care less. Nodded along to her words out of courtesy. Then the door opened, and he didn’t bother acting interested or even attentive to what she was still droning on about.  
  
Billy.  
  
His upper face was hidden from view behind a golden winged mask, the rest of his costume left unadorned. And despite the plainness of his attire, all the small groups of people in dashing clothing and exorbitant masks, made from the best metals and encrusted with the finest gems, simply. Dulled. Merged into the damask walls as Steve blinked at him from across the ballroom.   
  
A part of him couldn’t help but wonder if he’d enchanted him. If he’d spun a web to trap him in. Because no one seemed to _notice him._ No one but Steve and the useless muscle beating hard as a war drum behind his ribs.  
  
Billy walked over, gait as distinctive as the rest of him. Stopped beside Michael and bowed his greeting. “Your highness.”  
  
Karena and Michael turned to look at him. Going by the look on Michael’s face, he already knew who Billy was. Or was indifferent altogether.  
  
“Billy,” Steve rasped. He cleared his throat, lifting his head to regain some semblance of _poise_. “This is Lady Karena, Marchioness. And her son, Michael.”  
  
Billy took Lady Karena’s hand in his and bent his head to kiss the back of her gloved hand. “Lovely to make your acquaintance, m’lady.”  
  
Michael huffed, the way he kicked Billy in the shin only seen by Steve.   
  
“Oh, what a gentleman,” Karena crooned. “I’m _parched.”  
  
_“Bar’s all yours, Karena,” Steve replied. He waited for her to leave, Michael at her heel seeming a little less _bored_ than he had looked a few minutes ago, then he looked at Billy. Looked him over in the most clandestine manner he could manage. Which wasn’t subtle at all with the smile that twitched Billy’s mouth up not a second later. “Didn’t think you’d show.”  
  
“Heard there were free drinks,” Billy responded. “And you do owe me. From the tavern.”  
  
Oh. Oh, he’d completely forgotten to pay. He opened his mouth to apologize but—  
  
“You almost look like the princes they warned us about in the folk tales.”  
  
Steve felt weak with it, breath trembling out of him when he felt Billy’s eyes map him out like uncharted territory. “Did Robin add you to the guest list?”  
  
“Mhm,” Billy nodded. “As a former jester. She thought she was being funny.”  
  
Steve chuckled. “She’s,” he shook his head. “Driving father mad.”  
  
Billy’s expression fell, twisted into something pained and sardonic. “Strange. I always thought the king was fucked in the head to begin with.”  
  
“Careful,” Steve warned. Not threatening, not with a wounded pride. Just a warning. He looked around them smoothly to ensure no eyes were on them. It was hard not to feel watched these days. “You have Robin’s cheek,” it’s uttered fondly, and Steve could see Billy’s grin from the outskirts of his vision. He looked back at him. “But not father’s backing. So please make sure not to let slip again.”  
  
Billy bowed. “As your highness commands.”

…

Things were going swimmingly it was almost suspicious, had Steve looking around for any sign of peril.  
  
“Are you expecting somebody, nephew?”  
  
Steve lifted his wine glass to his lips, peering over its lip at his uncle. “No,” he replied quietly before taking a sip. “Just haven’t seen Robin yet, is all.”  
  
Martin nodded. Once, then another with a wide smile. Snaky and so _wrong_ on his face. “She brought a friend!”  
  
Steve swallowed his sip of wine slowly, letting it slither down his throat and hopefully wash down the curse word bubbling up there. “Oh, did she?”  
  
“Yes. A jester from Droytan. A small town, that is. Funny, really. I never knew it existed!” Martin answered, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for a reaction. Attentive as a _hawk_ watching its prey.  
  
He _knew_. Steve was foolish to think otherwise, foolish to think he could step a _toe_ out of his chambers without his uncle’s guards hot on his trail, awaiting any crooked behavior to report back to their master.  
  
Still, he caught himself. Smiled, lifting his brows in faux surprise. “Droytan? I believe that’s somewhere between Edithra and Zirisius?”  
  
Martin hummed. “Perhaps,” he murmured. “I’m very much interested in seeing what he can do,” his gaze drifted over the room, slow and not all there. “Ah. There he is! Let’s see if he can perform a quick little sleight of hand to keep our people entertained, hm?”  
  
Steve didn’t have the time to protest, mouth barely opening before his uncle was wandering off in Billy’s direction. “May I have your attention please?” he said loudly. The musicians’ instruments tapered off to silence. “From what we’ve _all_ heard I’m sure, Droytanians are _very_ skilled in legerdemain!” he turned swiftly on his feet and set his eyes on Billy with unerring precision, pointing a finger at him. “I’m sure the court jesters would have _plenty_ to learn from you.”  
  
Billy’s lips parted, a deep shade of pink spreading over his cheeks faster than a drop of ink in water. “Oh, I—” his eyes briefly flickered to Steve through the gold mask. “I wouldn’t want to bore you.”  
  
“Nonsense,” Martin scoffed, waving a hand. Low encouragements came from the attendees at Billy’s self-accusation of being _boring._ Which Steve concurred wholeheartedly. Billy was anything _but_ mundane. He was. So full of life in such dead company that Steve feared for him.  
  
“Very well,” Billy handed Robin his glass and Steve knew he was glaring at her. Then he joined Martin in the middle of the ballroom and Steve had to look away to fend off an itch to shield him from his uncle’s poisonous presence.  
  
“Forgive me. I forgot my hat at home,” Billy said aloud. It drew laughter out of every corner of the room. Steve forced himself to laugh along. “May I?” Billy held a hand out for a gentleman’s hat. Took it with a small grateful nod and stepped back.  
  
He did the usual. Pulled a dove out of the hat. Made the room fill with awe as the dove flew away. He juggled. He turned water to wine. He veiled his magic so well Steve wondered if he’d misheard the first day they met.  
  
“Oh, tedious!” Martin exclaimed. “Oldest tricks in the book!”  
  
“Uncle—” Robin began. “It’s nearly midnight. I’m sure all these fine people have better things to do than watch an erstwhile jester fool around.”  
  
Billy smiled, bowing his head in finality as he handed the man his hat back. “Apologies, for tearing up its insides.”  
  
The man, almost instinctively, reached into it. Gasped. Loud with surprise and wonder. Then he pulled out a coin. And another. And another. And the sound of his hand buried deep in golden pieces filled everyone with silent bewilderment.  
  
Billy pulled his glove back on, his smile dulling into something tired and. _Cold._ “I’ve outstayed my welcome here,” he stated gently. “If you’ll excuse me.”  
  
“Of course,” Martin replied, equally as fascinated as everyone else. Except something else underlay his tone. Greed, maybe. “Call a carriage! Music!”  
  
The cellist and violinists resumed where they’d left off without delay and Steve waited barely a minute after Billy’s departure to follow him out.  
  
“Are you _mad?”_ he hissed after him. “I can’t believe—you—”  
  
“I’d like to go home without a princely finger-wagging speech, your highness,” Billy murmured in a monotone, tugging his second glove on.  
  
Steve pulled the carriage door open and waited for Billy to climb in, then hurriedly followed suit. “When I told you not to let slip, I wasn’t solely referring to a slip of the _tongue_ , Billy,” he whispered. “My uncle—”  
  
“Is the fucking _devil,”_ Billy finished off. “I know that. I knew it the moment he rode a platoon into _my_ town and slaughtered _my_ people for nothing other than practicing our beliefs. Do you think I don’t _know_ how dangerous he is?”  
  
Steve swallowed. “He said,” he started. “He said he didn’t know your town existed.”  
  
“He made sure it ceased to,” Billy bit back, laughing dryly. “What do you want from me, Steve? You don’t invite me to the lion’s den and expect me to be fucking _safe.”  
  
_“I didn’t—” Steve began. “I didn’t mean to risk your exposure. You have to believe me.”  
  
Billy turned his head to look at him, mask scintillating with the moonlight shining through the cleft of the carriage curtain. “You know,” he stated a beat later. “You know about me.”  
  
“You’re a loud man,” Steve replied weakly. “I won’t tell— hand to god. I can’t bear the responsibility of being the reason for a noose around your neck. Around anyone’s.”  
  
Billy laughed. Short-lived and droll. “I’d have believed you if I didn’t know your father and the pleasure he takes in stealing the lives of those who don’t adhere to his creed.”  
  
“I don’t agree with his practices.”  
  
“Yet you stand idly by and watch him carry them out.”  
  
Steve felt it like a punch to the gut. He waited. Gave Billy the chance to swallow his words back. When Billy did no such thing, Steve nodded, reaching for the door handle. “Perhaps your own words would be of use to you right now,” he said as he climbed out. “No man has the privilege of choosing his parents.”  
  
He slammed the door shut before Billy could fully grasp the retrieval of his words.


End file.
